Everyday Stranger

I'd Like Some Breasts To Go Please?

I took what my noble readers said in their comments to heart and I dressed to the nines for the presentation. I had burnt up my MasterCard at Banana Republic earlier this week, and was wearing my new black kilt and a wrap-around white shirt. Complete with black pantyhose and a killer pair of Mary Jane high heels, and I felt like one tough cookie.

I paired the outfit with the brand-new white demi bra that I bought at Victoria’s Secret. I don’t wear white underwear, actually, but since my choices for a bra were a red one, a hot pink one, and a black one with silver lace, I decided maybe now is the time to invest in one. Now, for those of you not familiar with a demi-bra, I can tell you this much: it is a low cup, and supports about the bottom one-third of your breast. It is extremely cute and chick-ish. I have been wearing said perfect bras for the past 11 years, since I had a breast reduction.

That’s right. I had those babies taken off. I was a 38 DD, and I hated every minute of it. Not only did my back and shoulders ache, but my chest proceeded me into the room by a few steps. A life-changing experience: one evening I was sitting up in bed reading a book, naked. My cat jumped on the bed and I turned to pet him. Since I was topless, my breasts reached out and hit the cat and knocked him clear off the bed.

My humiliation was replete.

I booked an appointment with a plastic surgeon the very next day, and one month later, I was a 34 B. Since I paid so much for my breasts and suffered a great deal, I have been extremely proud of my breasts. And when people ask me about them, I tell them that I think my breasts are “fucking perfect”. So I make sure and canvas those babies in cute bras, the little demi ones that I had dreamt about when I was Big Boob Helen.

So I had my presentation to the sales teams today in Dallas. I was, as always, the only woman in the room. Working in engineering, that tends to be the case.

Not that I mind those odds, of course.

So I dressed up, including my new demi bra, and had my presentation today.

I have to say, my confidence was really rocked earlier this week, from the comments my friend had made to me. So I started about the presentation nervously. This is unusual for me, since one of the compliments I hold highest is that people tell me I give great presentations-I use humor, I am lively, and I (usually!) know what I am talking about.

I started the presentation to the team of guys as we sat around a large table, the projector picking up my PowerPoint slides. They looked moderately interested, and I started to warm up. I cracked a few jokes. They laughed. We progressed.

The work I am doing is tough. I mean, selling pink duct-taped hamsters is no picnic. So we have to delve pretty deeply into the material. What type of hamster, what color of hamster, how thick the tape is, etc. We have to get into the meat of this.

I stood up and walked to the screen for this part. This was the tough part, the part the men needed to sell. They sat up as I went through the bulleted slides, their eyes on me, their attention great. I was talking quickly now, and they weren’t even taking notes as we discussed out hamsters. It was flawless.

At the end of the presentation, I sat back down, feeling good. The men made plans to book trips to Sweden soon. I was pressed to ensure I would be a part of the meetings, and promised a dinner on the town with them. I felt great. My presentation kicked a clown’s ass. I had visions of masses of orders coming in from their customer, Company X needing masses of duct taped hamsters, perhaps even running out of hamsters and resorting to gerbils. I could have single-handedly saved the company with my sales presentation. I surely would not be made redundant next month. After all, I sold the system. Maybe I could even get a ticker-tape parade…

And then, once the men filed out, my co-worker George stood up to raise up the slide screen. As he stood in front of the projector beam, I saw that it shone right through his white shirt, and I saw his scraggly, un-Muppet-furry body and two peach colored nipples.

I stood up quickly in front of the projector light to check, and confirmed it. When I had stood up, the projector had gone right through my white wrap-around shirt, highlighting two-thirds of the top of my rounded, globe-perfect breasts. The men likely hadn’t heard a word I said, the system was possibly going nowhere.

They were looking at my breasts.

I am such an idiot. Now that half of Sweden saw my thong, and half of Dallas saw my breasts, I can only guess what the next bits of me are that will be exposed.

-H.

Posted by Everydaystranger at October 23, 2003 08:24 AM | TrackBack